Chapter Two
hum, hum, hum..
Fans spun rhythmically above Elena as she paused from mucking to wipe her brow. Every noise seemed clamorous against the stale heat of this Georgia summer afternoon. Inattentively, Elena fixated on the tip of the pitchfork in her hand, peeling at the wood with her gloved fingers. Her mind had been wondering since she began her chores in the compelling heat nearly two hours ago, reveling in daydreams of all the things she'd rather be doing than cleaning.
Before Elena could succumb to another imaginative episode of riding Matchbox under Cain's guidance, she quickly scooped the last bit of filth into her wheelbarrow. The metal of the stall latch grated as she forced it open, breaking the rhythm of the humming fans above. Elena emerged, following the heavy wheelbarrow, pitchfork dangling awkwardly under her arm. She always had a knack for doing things the hard way, but knew she'd be too lazy to make two trips.
"Need a hand?"
Elena gave up on the instrument and let it fall to the ground. She wasn't sure what made her jump more, the surprise voice or the crack of the tool hitting the hard floor. It was difficult to mistake Ryan's Australian accent, but Elena was easily startled.
"Oh, you know, I think I've got it. Thanks." Elena blushed, leaning over to pick up her fallen pitchfork.
"Good on'ya then.." Ryan moved in closer toward Elena, making himself comfortable in her space by leaning against the wall just a few feet away from her. "How many ya got left?"
Tucking some strays of blonde hair behind her ear, Elena made every attempt to return Ryan's gaze. He was so charismatic; he could easily knock the breath out of most girls around the barn, Elena included. Friendly brown eyes watched her as she replied,
"This was my last stall to clean. I had to pick up an extra few today since Veronica refuses to help out around here."
While she meant that to be lighthearted, it was the truth. The girl wouldn't sacrifice a fingernail for such things.
"Ah, yeah. 'Miss Figjam.'"
"Miss who?"
"The sheila who thinks herself better than the rest of us." He accompanied his reply with an adorable wink.
Elena couldn't help but laugh. Maybe it was the heat, but something struck her funny chords about the name "fig-jam."
"Well, that's all fine and dandy Ryan, but I don't see your blonde mop lifting a finger to help our little Elena here yourself. Unless that is you're intending to use that unruly hair to sweep the floors once she's done", a low amiable voice drawls from within the corridor - that familiar southern accent lilting the words.
Rene Moreau had been employed by Rosenthal since he'd been old enough to work - and to be honest, since before then, just off the books. Originally as a favor to his father, who was Rosenthal's first farrier and a soft-spoken horseman with an almost unintelligibly thick Creole accent, they'd hired the boy. The pay was menial but the privilege of being around the horses was more than enough reward, and Rene had grown up on the farm. At first as a simple stable-hand, then as an assistant for the facility staff, Rene had finally accepted an open position as a groom when Edgar Beaumont had finally retired at the ripe old age of 72.
Taking after his father in more ways than one, despite Rene's outlandishly tall frame, the horses seemed to gravitate to him...even the most intolerant seemed to put up with Rene's endless fussing come show season and always were turned out looking their best.
Nevertheless his words were friendly, ribbing - before dropping a notch and become more sincere.
"No, really man. Next lesson's here."
Ryan quickly broke from his relaxed composure and stood straight when Rene's last words registered.
"We'll settle this next time, Rene. I'll teach you to leave my hair out of things," Ryan replied jokingly. "Elena, I'll catch you after this next lesson!"
Elena quickly realized that she was now alone with Rene. He was much taller than she, brown eyes beaming down at her. He had such a kind face, no doubt a feature inherited by his father, but there was something mysterious about him. Elena had been riding at Rosenthal for a couple of years now, but her longest conversation with Rene was merely a "Hello" or "How are you?"
Seconds passed between them. Elena refused to let the silence become totally awkward.
"I really didn't need help, you know. I just..tend to make things more difficult on myself."
Rene's dark brown eyes swiveled to the side to follow Ryan's retreating back, an easy smile touching his lips, "Ah, I know that. You seem to hold your own around here just fine. Ryan was just due to be taken down a peg. Otherwise he gets unbearable". The Louisiana native's lips purse slightly, amused.
Elena laughed in reply. It was true...Ryan had a tendency to be a little intense.
He's not the only one with an intense personality around here, though.
"Rene, are you friends with Cain?"
The groom arched his eyebrows slightly as the conversation veered onto a different track, "Cain...Delacroix? Dressage trainer?". His voice remains somewhat neutral, however, he can't help the slightly incredulous tone that edges into it.
Elena blushed, feeling foolish for even asking. She didn't know what possessed her to ask about Cain, nor did she even think about what possible conversations would stem from such a random inquiry. Elena's thoughts ricocheted in her head. Picking one, she continued nonchalantly, "Yes, I was wondering, do you know why he doesn't give public lessons?"
Rene sighed, his long frame easing against the wall, "Cain's a tough nut to crack - he really doesn't talk about himself to much of anyone. And I've known him about as long as anyone has." His dark eyes slide towards the hall for a moment, towards the arena, as if thinking. "The way I see it, Cain's sure not the sort of person that doesn't do a thing he doesn't want to - for whatever reason he's gotten it in his head that people just aren't worth the time. For a time there, Ana was pretty keen on having him give some private lessons, coach the dressage team. Figured it would be good for him I suppose..."
Elena shifted her weight uncomfortably, cheeks burning as her mind ached with frustration over her reasons for asking about Cain in the first place. Everybody knows why he didn't give public lessons...everybody knows that he's unapproachable and a grump. "I wonder how he landed here in the first place. I watch him sometimes, in the morning, hoping to learn something. He really has a gift with the horses he works with. They respond to him so easily, like they speak the same language."
Those dark eyes flick back to the small woman in front of him. "Like I said... He doesn't do a lot of talking about himself, but from what I've gathered, he and Ana go back. Family ties or something. When he retired, she offered him the job as a dressage trainer. Funny, seeing as how he's always been such a mess with people, but..."
He tilts his head slightly, searching Elena's face thoughtfully, "Well I just guess she sees the same thing you do".
He chuckles, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "But, I'm keeping you from your work...and I'm sure those manes aren't braiding themselves. Although some days I wish they could..." Pulling his hands from his pockets, he leans away from the wall.
"Oh, right. Sure thing," Elena spat out. With a half turn, she extends a hand, grabbing the damned pitchfork next to her. It shatters the silence between them as Elena tosses it into the wheelbarrow. Reaching down to grab both handles, she turns her head to Rene and, with a genuine smile, wishes him a good rest of the evening. She could feel his gaze upon her back as she quickly made her way around the corner.
"Elena?" a low voice follows her around the corner, "Just something to keep in mind - the horses, they're usually pretty good judges of character."
At the back of the stable, and out of sight of anyone, Elena paused, hoping to regroup her thoughts and regain her composure.
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January 14, 2013 at 6:49 AM